


it's not laundry day if we're not yelling

by vojir



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bickering, Gen, Laundry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vojir/pseuds/vojir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam does the laundry. Sometimes he gets a little... neurotic. Especially about the socks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's not laundry day if we're not yelling

Laundry day is Tuesday. No matter where they are, no matter what they’re going through, no matter if the town they’re in is overrun with goddamn demons or vampires or killer toasters: laundry day is Tuesday. 

Since Dean doesn’t like waking up early and most motels don’t have their own washer/dryer, Sam usually gets up to gather all their stinky, slightly-blood-stained clothes and trundle off to the nearest laundromat. At around ten he returns home with matched socks and carefully folded shirts, and Dean promptly shuffles them all back into the same mild disarray they were in before. 

One morning Sam returns to Dean sitting at the so-called breakfast nook (a tiny table jammed up against a corner window with a parking lot view) drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. Sam hefts the laundry basket onto the bed and starts unloading clothes, stacking his and Dean’s on their respective beds. Dean looks up from his newspaper to see a neat stack of mismatched socks sitting next to his coffee cup, held together by a rubber band with a note stuck on the top: ‘No matches’. 

“What is this?” Dean asks, chucking and pointing at the socks. “No matches? I wear mismatched socks all the time.”

Sam stiffens and turns from his sorting. “Dean, I match all of our socks whenever I do laundry. How do you still manage to wear mismatched socks? It’s really unprofessional.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Sam,” Dean says. “All of our socks are varying shades of black. No one is going to notice if the FBI guy is wearing a dark-black sock with a regular-black sock.”

Sam’s face is now a delicate shade of pink. “Dean, socks have different heights, and different thread counts, and different materials, and different patterns and textures – you’re telling me you just wear different kinds? Even if one goes up to your mid-calf while the other goes just above your ankle? Even if they have different stitching?”

“How do you know this much about socks?”

“Because I care about my appearance, maybe?”

“Nobody stares at your ankles and thinks, oh god, that guy isn’t wearing socks with the same patterns! We usually wear long pants anyway!”

Sam turns away and angrily tosses a pair on pants onto Dean’s bed. “If you don’t appreciate my sock-sorting, I won’t do it anymore,” he says quietly.

Dean is thoroughly confused and mildly frustrated at this point. “Fine,” he replies. “Never asked you to do my laundry anyway.”

“Well, you kept dying your white shirts pink, because apparently separating the reds is beyond your capabilities.” 

“Real men wear pink.” 

“Whatever,” Sam says, with a certain finality. He dumps the remaining clothes onto Dean’s bed and stalks to the bathroom with the laundry hamper. “I’m gonna go get breakfast.”

“Knock yourself out,” Dean says, shaking his head and returning to his coffee. Every Tuesday. Honestly.

**Author's Note:**

> crossposting from comment-fic! super adorable prompt that i couldn't help filling. i like to think that, were all the shit NOT hitting the fan, dean and sam would be the best siblings. and when i say best i mean they would argue a lot (i think it's charming ok)


End file.
